Page 29

Bield Cottage, Scotland

Present Day

“And that, my dear, is the story of everything that led up to your being here at Bield Cottage today.”

Emily Evans stared at the lovely older woman sitting next to her, unable to put words together in any sort of coherent way. A Faerie world in political upheaval? Time travel to join souls intended to be together? How could that woman possibly sit there so calmly, as if she’d just spoken of the weather or some humdrum drive in the country?

Emmie had known there was something unusual about Syrie MacDowylt from the moment she’d first met the woman. Granted, something so far out of the realm of possibility as the story this woman had just told her would explain how, seven hundred years ago, the wife of the third laird of MacKillican could have had the exact same name as Annie, Emmie’s cousin, who had died so mysteriously six months ago. It had been Annie’s death that had led to Emmie coming here to Bield Cottage as the caretaker of this property.

Syrie’s fantastic story could indeed explain the strange coincidence if it had any basis in reality, that is. Which it didn’t. It couldn’t! The story Syrie had just recounted of how she’d come to know Annie and her grandmother Ellen was beyond anything Emmie could ever have imagined. Like Faeries and Magic and time-traveling adventures, the woman’s story couldn’t be anything other than sheer fantasy.

With a patient smile, Syrie put down her cup and rose to her feet, extending a hand down to Emmie. “Come take a walk with me, my dear. I’ve something I’d like to show you.”

Emmie accepted Syrie’s hand and stood, following along out the door and toward the woods.

“Where are we going?” Emmie asked after several moments of silence. “What is it that you want me to see?”

“We’re headed toward the castle. I’ve something there that I think might help you to accept the truth of all the things I’ve told you today. And, to carry on with my plans for Bield Cottage and your staying here, it’s important to me that you believe. More than important, actually. It’s a necessity.”

For the first time since Emmie had responded to the knock on the door this morning to find Syrie standing there, she felt a tremor of fear ripple through her stomach. Was Syrie trying to tell her that she had decided against allowing Emmie to remain as the caretaker? Even the thought of having to leave this place brought a sheen of tears to her eyes.

In the past six months she’d come to love this place as if she’d been born to live here. She’d just signed the lease on a tiny shop in the village, where she planned to display and sell the jewelry she created. Everything was finalized except the last of the paperwork, waiting only for her to choose a name for her shop. In her short time here, she’d known a sense of freedom and peace she’d never experienced anywhere else. Being forced out now would surely break her heart.

“Don’t be such a silly girl,” Syrie muttered before turning, that patient smile of hers once again in place. “Look ahead on the path and tell me what you see.”

Though Emmie couldn’t imagine how it could possibly convince her to believe Syrie’s story, she did as she was asked. “We’ve reached the ruins of Castle MacKillican. We’re standing where I imagine the gates originally stood.”

“Very good,” Syrie said. “Now, keep your eyes fixed in front of you.”

“What is it you think—”

The question Emmie had been about to ask evaporated on her lips as the world in front of her shifted, going slightly out of focus before it hazed over, as if she viewed it through a pair of green lenses. In the next moment, much like a curtain being drawn back, everything cleared. Only, as the scene sharpened, it wasn’t ruins of a castle in front of her but a fully intact, beautifully kept castle, surrounded by a lawn of green where goats wandered. A small, moat-like stream surrounded the perimeter of the castle walls, with a short bridge leading from the path, over the water, and into the massive open gate.

“What is this place? Where did it come from?” Emmie asked, finding it somewhat difficult to stand without grabbing on to something.

With a laugh that tinkled like musical bells, Syrie placed a strong arm around Emmie’s shoulders, lending support. “It didn’t come from anywhere. It’s always here, in the Between. This is my home.”

“The Between?” Emmie asked, lifting a hand to rub her eyes, just in case she was seeing things. “What is that?”

“The Between is…” Syrie paused and shrugged, as if searching for an answer Emmie might understand. “It is the space between the Mortal Plain, your world, and Wyddecol, the world of the Fae.”

“I don’t understand any of this,” Emmie said. “I’ve walked these grounds a thousand times. I’ve never seen this before. I’ve never seen anything even remotely like this before.”

“Well, of course you haven’t,” Syrie said, a little wrinkle on her brow. “The Between isn’t a place open to visitors from either world. You can’t simply wander in here. You must be invited into this place, as I have invited you.”

“There were ruins here,” Emmie protested. “Just minutes ago.”

“They’re still there,” Syrie said patiently. “In your world. Do you believe now?”

Emmie didn’t know what to believe now. But she did know that everything she’d thought was an absolute truth when she got out of bed this morning probably wasn’t. And if she could be so wrong about everything, then what better explanation than the one Syrie had given her?”

“I do.”

How could she not? The proof had flickered into reality right in front of her own two eyes.

“Wonderful,” Syrie said, her voice tinged with something that sounded suspiciously like relief. “In that case, I’ve one more thing to show you.”

Again the world shifted. This time Emmie was prepared for the change and realized it was almost like sitting in the chair taking an eye exam, with the lenses being switched quickly for you to choose the better option between A or B.

“We’re back in my world, right?” she asked.

The ruins in front of her should have answered her question, but with what she’d experienced today, she wanted the confirmation.

“Yes,” Syrie said. “I want to show you the guest-house.”

“What guest-house?” Emmie asked before she could stop herself.

Again Syrie’s laughter tinkled through the forest. “Don’t worry, dearest Emmie. I should have said the location of the future guest-house. The workmen will begin arriving tomorrow. They have assured me it will take no longer than four months to complete, weather willing. The delay will give us time to work out what new duties you’ll have once it’s done.”

“New duties?”

“Absolutely,” Syrie said. “As our caretaker, you’ll be indispensable in helping to make sure the people who come here to stay find their happiness. Annie was spot on in choosing you for this position before she left. I can’t imagine anyone would be better to assist me.”

Syrie gave her a quick hug and then rambled on about the building process, but Emmie only half listened. Her heart filled with the knowledge that she’d apparently passed Syrie’s test and would be allowed to remain at Bield Cottage. In the course of the past hour, she’d gone from near heartbreak to realizing her heart’s desire.

In that moment, it was as if all the tumblers fell into place and she knew what she would name her shop.

“Of course you do, dear Emmie,” Syrie said, as if they’d been carrying on a conversation all along. “I think Heart’s Desire is the perfect name. We’ll start the advertising right away. I’m sure it will help in drawing the right people our direction.”

Emmie nodded her agreement, no longer surprised at anything this strange little woman said or did. All that mattered was that she could see her life happily playing out ahead of her. And the thought of helping other people find happiness such as she knew in this moment felt like a very good way to spend her life.

* * *

Delafée Valley, Switzerland

The Present

“I know you’re there, Nalindria. Whatever it is, come tell me and get it over with.”

Reynalia Servans placed the tips of her fingers to her temple in a fruitless attempt to hold off the headache she felt approaching. All these centuries and that servant girl still skulked in the shadows like a timid mouse when she had unpleasant news to deliver.

“It is your brother, mistress. He insists you join him at poolside for lunch.”

“You can tell my brother—”

Reynalia bit back her first response, knowing it would only irritate Reynard. Dealing with her brother’s over-inflated ego was an ongoing challenge. A time would come when holding her tongue would no longer be necessary, but today was not that time.

“You can tell him I will join him as soon as I change into appropriate clothing.”

Nalindria started to scurry away, but paused, turning, her eyes darting as if she had something else to say.

“Spit it out, girl.”

“ She is with him,” Nalindria said, before turning to hurry out of the room.

“Of course she is,” Reynalia murmured, rising to walk to her closet.

When she’d first come to this world, wounded, defeated, Reynard had taken her in. Over the years, she’d helped him consolidate power among the Nuadians until there were only a few true leaders in charge. When the time was right, she’d taken her place as one of those leaders, successfully running her own part of the organization.

Naturally, when Reynard had shown up at her door a few years back, more dead than alive, with that horrible handprint burned into his flesh, she’d had no qualms about taking him in. It was the least she could do. But after he’d healed, things had changed and one of the most annoying changes had been his bringing that trashy mistress of his into her home. Adira Ré Alyn wasn’t the sort of person Reynalia had ever associated with in Wyddecol, and she had no desire to do so here.

With a sigh of irritation, she brushed the hair away from her face, catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Her eyes gravitated toward the scar on her cheek left there by that miserable upstart who’d been the cause of her failure. Poor Orlyn had taken the brunt of that attack, but she hadn’t gone unscathed, left with this mark to remind her of all she’d lost. Once again she swore she’d one day find Elesyria A? Byrn and make her pay for what she’d done. Her and everyone she’d ever cared about.

Slipping off the silky robe she wore, she reached for a casual sundress and let it drop over her head.

With one more glance into the mirror, she left the room, headed for the pool.

Yes, one day soon things would change around here. She’d have her revenge on Elesyria and she’d have her brother out of her home. All she needed was patience and, over the centuries, she’d cultivated patience to a fine art. She liked to think of herself as akin to the spider sitting in the center of her perfectly spun web, waiting for her prey to drop into her trap.

A few more rounds of weaving and, just like the spider, her web would be ready.

* * *

The Between

The Present

“About time you were home again,” Patrick called as Syrie entered the great hall of their castle. “I’d begun to think you’d decided to abandon me in favor of your Mortal world.”

“Never,” Syrie promised, hurrying her steps to throw her arms around her big warrior. “As I’ve told you so many times, once I found you, I was never letting you get away from me. You are mine, Patrick MacDowylt. Now and forever.”

“I thought that was my line,” Patrick said with a laugh as he lifted her off her feet for a kiss.

“Mine now,” she replied, wishing they were in their own chamber rather than in the middle of the great hall.

She had been gone for far too long.

“As it should be.” Another kiss and Patrick looked down at her, his eyebrow arching in that particular way of his. “Do drop that old woman’s disguise, wife. You doona wish to startle the boys, now do you?”

“That would never do,” she agreed.

In less time than it took to breath in, the air shifted around her and the facade of age slipped away. She was herself again.

“Much better,” Patrick said, hugging her close. “Was yer visit as you’d hoped? The girl agreed to what you asked?”

“She did,” Syrie said, smiling at the memory of Emmie’s day. “Though I’d say she’ll be working through the shock of it all for while.”

“She has my sympathies on that one,” Patrick said, his lips only a hair’s breadth from hers. “Once she learns to go with the flow, she’ll find the going much easier.”

Go with the flow?

“Have you been watching those shows on the telly again?” she asked, knowing that particular modern invention was one of her husband’s weaknesses.

“Why would you even think to ask a thing like that?” he blustered, his eyes twinkling even as he pretended to deny her accusation. “It’s a fair old saying I learned, long in the past. Besides, did you no’ enjoy yer own share of modern conveniences while you visited Emily?”

“I did. But you say that like we live a completely primitive life here. I’d hardly call it that.”

They had, in fact, made their home a combination of all the things they liked best about the variety of times in which they’d traveled. After all, it would hardly make sense to have all that power and not use a little of it for their own comfort.

“Not entirely primitive,” Patrick agreed. “We do enjoy a few favorite bits and pieces, now and again.”

“So we do,” she said, dutifully following him as he led her to the stairs and started up. “And just where exactly do you think you are leading me, my love?”

At the top of the stairs he turned and, with a laugh, swept her off her feet and into his arms.

“You’ve been gone two days, love. Two days and two long nights. Where am I taking you? Why, to one of my personal favorite bits of newfangled technology, of course. If that’s acceptable to you, wife mine.”

“It’s absolutely acceptable,” she answered, her laughter mingling with his as she tightened her arms around his neck. “In fact, it’s more than acceptable. It’s something I’d have insisted upon myself, husband mine, if I’d thought of it first.”

This, this giddy feeling of happiness and excitement, this was what she wanted for everyone. This was what she was determined to give to as many people as she could. Their own personal happily ever afters. As soon as the guest-house was complete, she’d begin her search for those people she could help.

But for right now, with Patrick’s plaid hitting the floor to pool around his feet, it was her own happily ever after she was most interested in. Because there were, after all, few things in life that made her happier than a rousing afternoon romp in the shower with the man of her dreams.